


I Belong to You

by Galindrael



Series: A Very Dragon Age Christmas [18]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, DECFANFIC, Day Eighteen, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, blizzard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3068924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galindrael/pseuds/Galindrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Scáthach and Cullen arrive at Ostwick to meet her parents, neither were expecting for things go as terrible as it did, and certainly didn't expect it to pull them apart as much as it did. Revelations and revealed secrets can do a lot of damage if one is unprepared. When they return to Skyhold, Dorian is off to find out what happened and see if he could fix the fraying relationship.</p><p>For the #DecFanfic contest.</p><p>There are currently 22 parts to this series, the link, for some reason is broken- sorry for the issue, I'm trying to fix it (as of 1 February 2015)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Belong to You

Cullen stalked into the Herald’s Rest with a stack of back-logged reports under his arm. The blizzard roaring outside made it difficult to shut the door but when he slammed it shut, it stayed shut, seemingly frightened of the Commander like the rest of the tavern was presently. He didn’t wave to or acknowledge anyone. He took out his coin purse, slammed a few coins onto the counter, reached behind the bar for a bottle and headed up to the second floor. Bull and Dorian watched silently from the opposite side of the bar. Dorian leaned to Bull, “Something must have gone horribly wrong at that dinner,” he stood up, “I’m going to find out,” he wrapped himself in his scarf.

Bull placed a hand on Dorian’s arm, “I think you might want to give Cullen some time”.

Dorian laughed, took Bull’s hand and kissed his knuckles, “I’m not dumb enough to go confront an enraged lion,” he leaned in to whisper, “but I bet a certain lioness would like someone to rant to,” Bull rolled his eyes and Dorian kissed Bull’s cheek then made his way out the door and towards the Inquisitor’s room.

 

Dorian knocked on the Scáthach’s door.

“What?” she tersely responded and he cracked open the door slightly.  

“I heard the _lioness_ has returned,” he replied in a sing-song voice.

“Oh, Dorian,” her voice lightened, “I thought you were,” she stopped, “oh, never mind”.

“Ah,” Dorian plopped on the couch, “Lover’s tiff then?”

She shot a look to the Tevinter mage, “Are we that obvious?” she was still unpacking her luggage.

“Well, why else would he be in the tavern and not here _ravishing_ you, as per tradition?”

She scoffed, “So that’s what he meant by ‘work’”.

Dorian offered, “To be fair, he did have a stack of reports to pair with that bottle when he stomped upstairs,” he watched the Inquisitor take a deep breath.

“I suppose you’ve come to find out why, hmm?” she closed her bag, and tossed it into the closet.

Dorian smiled, “You know me, “ he chuckled, “That and I figured if he’s that worked up, then maybe you needed someone to talk to”. She sighed loudly.

“You’re right,” she climbed into bed and patted next to her.

Dorian jumped up and plopped down next to her, “So, tell me what’s going on,” she put her head on his shoulder and he put his head on hers.

“Ugh, where do I start?”

\---

Scáthach and Cullen arrived in front of her childhood home early in the afternoon. Cullen was staring at the sheer size of the estate. _Kinloch was smaller than this_. Maker, maybe even Redcliffe, he couldn’t be sure. They were not even done pulling into the driveway when Scáthach mumbled how she was going to be sick. Earlier that morning in the carriage she did her best to warn Cullen about her parents; about their mannerisms, political beliefs, etc. but she could never find the right words to express the dread she felt in the pit of her stomach. She warned that it would be overwhelming but Cullen didn’t believe her descriptions until he saw the manor in the distance. _Surely this is not one house._

It was nearly 800 meters from the gate to the main doors of the house and Scáthach remembered every bump on the way there. She stared out the window as Cullen silently did the same next to her. _This is not going to end well…I need to warn him…again_.

 

“You have horse statues in your yard,” Cullen mumbled to out-loud, mostly to himself.

“Cullen,” she squeezed his hand and he turned to her.

“I- Sorry, Yes?” He focused on her.

“I don’t know what they want,” she sighed.

“You’ve said that,” he chuckled.

“No, you don’t understand,” she pulled herself closer to him, “That’s _not_ a good thing,” her hands were getting clammy, “This could be an ambush, or-”.

Cullen interrupted, “I’m sure we’re safe from that”.

“I don’t mean with swords,” her heart was racing now, “Maker, I’m frightened. They’ve probably caught wind of our engagement somehow and they’re going to lose it”, she placed her head in her hands.

This movement made Cullen uneasy, and he leaned down to her, “We’ll figure it out. Everything will be ok, love,” he placed a hand on her back. _Am I trying to convince her or myself?_ Before any more words could be exchanged, the carriage pulled to a stop. Cullen sighed and was about to say something when a young man opened their door.

“Lady Trevelyan,” he offered an arm to her and, much to Cullen’s annoyance; she took it without so much as a glance to him.

“Commander”, he held the door for Cullen who all peeled himself from the carriage seat.

 

At the top of the stairs a woman, maybe Scáthach’s age, waited for the couple to approach.

“Hello, miss,” she offered Scáthach, then turned to Cullen, “Ser,” a young woman offered politely as she curtseyed.

“Hello, Dana, is it just us this evening?” Scáthach waited for Cullen before making her way to front door.

“Yes, miss,” she fidgeted, “ Bann Emmet Trevelyan and your lady mother, Satine Trevelyan, would like me to inform you that-I’m afraid  that your,” she coughed lightly, “your rooms” _rooms, plural,_ “are not quite ready,” she opened the door for the couple and the door swung silently open.

“Thank you, Dana,” Scáthach replied then pursed her lips.

Scáthach gripped Cullen’s arm as they entered the foyer. Cullen’s eyes adjusted and he had to physically stop himself from letting out a small gasp; the floor was crisp white marble, the walls appeared to have velvet on the designs, the fixtures were a mesh of silver and gold and an unbelievably large chandelier hung above their heads. _Maker, there are literally thousands of crystals on that._ He felt Scáthach squeeze his arm again and he turned to her.

“Messere Cullen,” Dana asked once more, noticing the Commander was distracted, and had not heard he the first time, “Would you like a tour while the rooms are being finished?”

“Oh,” he panicked, “Yes, of course,” he smiled but inwardly groaned, he hadn’t meant to say that.

 

The first room she showed them was the gallery. It had hundreds of masterpieces on every level that the room offered; towards the ceiling large intricate murals were hung, ground level there were sculptures and paintings of every size possible, a display not only of wealth but of education as most depicted historical events or figures, divine or otherwise. The contents of this room alone could probably fund the Inquisition indefinitely, if sold to the right buyers. The large dining room, which he was assured they were _not_ using for such a small setting, was as large his town’s square. In the corner a maid was cleaning the silver with special gloves on, scrubbing the crevices to make sure they were sparkling. The table held large platters that had horses interweaved in their designs and each setting was an exact copy to its neighbor, nothing out of place. Scáthach had to pull Cullen out of the way of one of the butlers as he was so distracted by the display that he nearly knocked into the man.

When they entered the library Scáthach leaned in, “this is one of my favourite rooms in all of Thedas,” and, Maker he could see why. A large tapestry with the Trevelyan sigil hung proudly in the center of the winding stair cases that lead to the second and third floor. The library smelled of leather and old books but it was spotless; every book spine perfectly aligned, no dust on any of the hundreds of shelves and each book properly cataloged and in its place. _Dorian would have a field day_. “The other library is restricted to Trevelyan family members, only, I’m afraid,” Dana offered as she led them to the next room. Cullen leaned to Scáthach, “How many libraries does this place have?”. She whispered back, “Officially two, but there are, uhm- restricted tomes locked away in the basement”.

Next he was shown the drawing and withdrawing rooms, probably the most modest rooms the general public would ever see, and modest was being polite. The billiard room seemed heavily lived-in; a game still on the table, a well-loved chair in the corner and much to Cullen’s surprise, there was a book on the stand next to it with a ribbon sticking out. _So someone does live here_. Cullen lost track of how many rooms he had seen but more surprised by the lack of servants bustling about. Scáthach offered him a quick explanation, “They have backways so the guests don’t see them”. Cullen scoffed, “Why, everyone knows you have them, it’s not exactly a surprise…unless, of course, your family keeps the house clean and meals hot”, Scáthach laughed a little too loudly and caused Dana to turn her head slightly as she led them to the main stables.

 

Cullen knew her family bred horses but, Maker, help him, he was not ready for how many there were. “By this morning’s account,” Dana practically shouted to talk over the noise, “There are 1500 ready to mount or sell and another 200 too young breed” Cullen’s face must have been plain as day to her, “That’s an average, Ser Cullen, 3 months past we had twice the number, before they were sent off across Thedas”, Dana led them back inside, the quiet welcoming and they were met by the head of staff.

 

“I am pleased to announce that your rooms are ready, should you,” she looked to Cullen, “have mind to change into dinner attire,” she turned around with a sneer Scáthach was all too familiar with, “this way please,” she led them back to the foyer and then up to the guest rooms, a slight Scáthach noticed immediately. Scáthach’s annoyance became even more obvious to Cullen when they were placed several doors apart as if it wasn’t a normal thing for lovers to be placed next to each other Scáthach was ready to either throw up or punch the wall, she hadn’t decided.

Cullen stood in the center of his room unsure of what to do with all this space. He turned; surprised to see the armor that he had packed on a stand in the corner the left of an open window. Cullen walked over and peered down to see a bustle of workers; a few gardeners, a trainer walking a horse, a game keeper toting what was, surely, tonight’s dinner and an elderly man standing by a door signing for a delivery. _This is not a home, this is a city. And yet, there are starving children in the streets and people who would kill for a warm place to sleep and a bowl of broth._ Cullen went to the bed and sat down, sinking into the comforter, trying not to stew in disgust or let his mind wander to Scáthach and how different their lives have been prior to when they met in the service of the Inquisition. He was failing miserably, of course.

 A knock on the door made him stand up, “Messere Cullen,” a broguish accent asked, “I’m here to help you dress, if you are ready”. _Help me dress? Maker, these people._ “Come in,” he replied politely and a young elven man opened the door, eyes cast to the floor. Scáthach did warn him, but he was still not ready to be dressed by another and certainly not in the suit Scáthach had purchased for the evening; one _she_ purchased, as he was sure his soldier’s pay could not have covered the boots. When the young man was done and finally left the room, Cullen pulled his grooming kit out, ready to get his pull his razor out when he saw that on the desk there was already a shaving kit set on it expectantly. Cullen could feel himself scowling.

Cullen sighed and lathered his face up and started to shave when there was a sudden knock on the door and he froze. He didn’t know what to do. _I have shaving cream all over my face and have only half shaved…do I answer it? Is that impolite? Ugh, why do I give a shit about what these pretentious-_

“Cullen, it’s me,” Scáthach said quietly, “are you in there?” _Oh thank the Maker._

“Yes, I’m shaving,” Cullen returned to his task, trying to get as close to his skin without cutting himself.  He was nearly finished when he felt her hands on his shoulders.

“You look quiet handsome,” she kissed his temple.

Cullen hadn’t seen her yet and just wiped off what residue was left from the shaving cream. He stood up and looked to her. She was wearing a light gray dress with a yellow ribbon tied at her waist, her hair was in an insanely intricate braid that left ringlets to frame her face and she was adorned with jewels that were surely meant to catch any light in the room. She looked beautiful, but uncomfortable. And he was pining for her but upset for a reason he couldn’t quiet place.

“You look stunning, as usual, love,” he kissed her cheek, “surely it is not time for dinner yet?”

“No, my, uhm,” she sighed loudly, “my parents wished to speak to me first, before dinner” she looked down, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for whatever they’re going to say. This will not be a pleasant dinner from what I hear”.

“You’ve heard something,” he took a subconscious step forward.

“Yes, apparently, they’ve been in a sour sort for days. Whatever you do, try to stay up here until you’re called,” a grimace coming over Cullen’s face, “this is a lot like the game in Orlais. They will try to make you lose your temper then blame it on your-,” she stopped, and turned from him.

“My what?” Cullen knowingly asked for clarification.

“Your birth,” she turned her head slightly to Cullen but couldn’t make her body shift to face him.

“Ah,” Cullen came up and hugged her from behind, “this will be so much fun,”  he placed his chin on her shoulder, “I will try not to react”.

“If you stay cold it could be just as bad,” she finally turned to face him once more, “Maker, Cullen, whatever happens tonight, I love you”.

 _That’s not exactly reassuring._ Cullen pulled her into a hug, worry settling on his shoulders, “I love you too”.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she pulled back, her eyes sad and shoulders slumped.

“I understand,” he watched her force herself from his company, a weight visibly becoming heavier the farther she got from him.

 

She left the room and before the door shut he caught a frightening reflection of Scáthach; the mirror in the hall showed her straighten up, her eyes lit up and a pleasant smile reveal itself. _How many times has she put that façade on... Does she do it with me?_ Cullen sat down and pulled out a stack of reports that he brought with him from Skyhold to go over but found his work short-lived. Most of the reports were small updates; troop movements, requisition requests, supply lists, etc. He couldn’t believe he was sad over there not being any more work for him to do, yet there he was, laying on an annoyingly large bed, staring at the ceiling and wishing for one of Leliana’s birds to magically tap on the window with a new stack.

 Cullen felt agitated as boredom set in and festered, he even tried to busy himself for a short time before he decided that it would be all right to peruse the library. Maybe a few of the military books or tomes could help the Inquisition’s forces. Which was, of course, a terrible mistake; before he knew it he was lost in the corridors. The cherry wood and marble floors were starting to all look the same. It had been minuets since he saw another person and was lucky that a young maid was delivering fresh sheets to the other rooms and she pointed him in the right direction. He rounded the corner and saw the familiar set of doors and he couldn’t help but smile slightly, strangely comforted at the familiarity. As he was just passed the threshold he made the unfortunate realization that the room where Scáthach and her parents were ‘talking’ was just across the hall.

 

“What were you _thinking_?!” a gruff voice clearly chastising the recipient.

“Father,” Scáthach’s voice pleaded, “Please, understand that Cullen is,” she was interrupted.

“Rough and common,” another woman’s voice offered. Cullen felt his face flush, embarrassment telling him to retreat back to his room but pride made him stand and take-in the insults that were sure to come.

“That is not fair, you do not know the Commander,” Scáthach retaliated, her voice solid and sure, a small comfort to him.

“Oh?” A light rustling of paper, “Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath, _former_ Templar, present at both Kinloch’s fall and Kirkwall’s rebellion,” a pause, “ _second_ eldest child, no real fortune or title,” Scáthach interrupted again. _Lovely, I’ve been investigated._

“I know all of this, what does it matter,” her anger was bubbling to the surface and Cullen’s was starting to make his ears feel hot.

“No title, no _real_ dowry, what can the man offer you, truly,” the woman asked. _All about money, isn’t it?_

“Offer me? Maker’s breath,” she paused, and he smiled as he heard her repeat the phrase he’s used countless times before, “My time away from court…. With the people you so _easily_ look down on,” a scoff resounded off the walls, “He can _offer_ me happiness. Those rough hands you sneer at are the same that have kept me safe- have saved my life. Cullen _loves_ me…is that not enough?”

“Enough,” her father interrupted, “This is going nowhere and you…You are love-sick, that much is obvious,” a frustrated sigh escaped his lips, “Regardless, I am famished and despite the Commander being cut from lesser stalk, he is still our guest and will be treated as such”. _Lesser stalk…_

Cullen’s jaw tightened and he hadn’t even noticed that he had balled his fist at some point; his entire body was tense. Their silence made Cullen head off to the foyer. He rounded the corner just in time to be out of sight. He quickened his pace as heard their heels click on the marble- so long as he made it to the foyer before them and kept out of sight, he’d manage the rest of the night…or so he thought.

 

Their introductions were sickeningly sweet and Scáthach kept intentionally referring to him as _her_ Commander and holding onto his arm, making her stand quiet clear, which made him smile internally- a small victory on his part. Cullen made sure to keep touching her as well, holding her hand when acceptable, placing his hand on the small of her back and even tucking hair behind her ears; the uncomfortable shifting made him. He kept his demeanor through nearly all of the meal, but faltered as the last dish was in front of him.

“Ser Cullen?” Her mother asked sweetly, hiding the malice behind it.

“Yes?” Cullen responded, getting annoyed at having to stop each time he had to talk.

“What does your family do in Honnleath?”

“South Reach,” Cullen corrected, but continued “My mother makes dresses, she specializes in embroidery and my father is a carpenter who occasionally commissions himself for more intricate furniture to the local nobility”.

“Oh, do I know their work,” Scáthach’s mother asked cheerfully. _Spiteful old woman…_

“Doubtful,” he replied with a most insincere smile plastered on his face, he felt Scáthach squeeze his arm lightly under the table, “They’re both retired, you see”. Cullen reached for his goblet and drank deep.

“Only child Serah Cullen,” her father asked and Cullen felt his temper rise. _You fucking know I have siblings, what are you prying at?_ He heard Scáthach take in a breath.

“No, I have _three_ siblings,” he placed his elbows on the table with his hands folded, “But I’m sure you are aware of that”. He caught her father glance to his intended slight.

“Cullen,” Scáthach barely whispered, trying to warn him but it was too late.

“Ah, yes, we are. Initially we thought there were just three Rutherford children, but we forgot about the,” Cullen’s heart leapt into his throat. _Don’t you fucking dare_ , “deviant Rutherford brother”. And that was the last straw for Cullen.

 

Cullen slammed his fists on the table and stood up across from the Bann, causing the Scáthach to stand as well- an instinct from the Inquisition,  “Insult me, fine. Look down on me, fine,” he points at her father, “But you leave my family **_out_** of this!”

“How can we when that is the very _issue,”_ her mother said, sipping her wine, “If she had just accepted that marriage proposal from the nice Pentaghast boy, instead of breaking off the engagement for you” Cullen looked to Scáthach who blushed and looked away. Cullen’s embarrassment and anger was now turned to Scáthach.

 

“ _What,”_ Cullen rounded. 

“It’s not what you think,” she touched his arm and he ripped it back.

“ _Why_ didn’t you tell me?” he was seething, seeing red, feeling the urge to hit something. _Just fucking perfect- this is, how could she **betray** me? My trust?_

“It’s not the same as our engagement,” she stuttered out.

“So the Commander did ask you?” her father twisted the knife, revealing that they had known.

“So you fucking hid it from me?” Cullen ignored the Bann, his hurt superseding his pride.

“I had no intention of ever accepting it, Cullen, I didn’t think it mattered,-” she was so upset, frightened of what damage the words could do.

“Didn’t _matter_ ,” he scoffed _,_ “It matters to _me_ that I’ve been **_bedding_** someone else’s fiancée,” Cullen realized the words left his mouth too late. He slapped a hand over his mouth and shot a look to Scáthach who was utterly horrified. _Oh, Maker, what have I done. She warned me and I fell for it._

“You what?!” Her father closed the distance, between himself and Cullen. Cullen completely ignored him again and went to Scáthach.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Scáthach, it- it slipped,”  his hands were cupping her face and Scáthach looked as if she was about to crack under his touch.

“Guards!” Her mother called and Scáthach pulled back from Cullen.

“No, please, stop,” Scáthach sounded ever-the-child, begging her parents.

The guards burst in and grabbed Cullen by the arms, “Scáthach!” Cullen fought but was well-restrained.

 

Scáthach went quiet, and her eyes darted back in forth, silent for just a moment before he saw her face change, melt, back to the Inquisitor.

“Stop,” she said softly, “Stop,” she said again with more force and grabbed her father’s sword from his belt as he wildly grabbed to his daughter, “As leader of the Inquisition, I order you, Templars, release my Commander,” they looked to her, then to the Bann confused.

“Messere?” One of the Templars asked but Scáthach answered.

“The Inquisition is above the Chantry and thus, above you and your Order, Templar. Release him or I will strike you down,” Scáthach had settled into a fighting stance, ready to lunge if either reached for their weapon. Cullen’s heart was ready to burst out of his chest. His face was level with their hips and he could see the dagger’s sheathe and should the need arise he could reach it if he could manage to break free. _A quick thrust under the ribs is all it would take._ He looked back to her and she had not faltered. Her mother was clinging to her father, both frozen in shock temporarily.

“Stay your blades, do not harm my daughter,” her mother gave in, “Release him,” Cullen fell to his knees as he was the grip on his arms released. He immediately went to Scáthach and placed a hand on one of hers that was still gripping the sword, trying to lower the weapon. _She’s in shock._

“Scáthach,” she seemed to snap back at the sound of his voice and she dropped the sword to the ground.

“Cullen,” she wrapped her hands around him, shaking fiercely, and he held her close to him, “I’m sorry I didn’t, I- I couldn’t let them take,” she was nearly hysterical.

 

“Get their belongings,” her Father’s sudden voice, a deep menacing tone, “And escort them out of the estate, I tire of guests,” he began to walk away.

“Father,” she called, desperate, but unsure.                                                                                                  

“No. You have embarrassed this house, this name,” even in his anger the Bann seemed to sadden further as each syllable left his mouth, “Maker, Scáthach, did you think of the consequences? This house runs off our name. Our business off our reputation; Off our dedication to the Chantry…What if you had a child out of wed-lock? A bastard? Would you have even cared that your name be forever sullied?” The concern in his voice was genuine, but Scáthach could not lie and say she felt the same.

“I’m sorry, no,” her father recoiled; clearly she had changed since she had left Ostwick. She composed herself as well as she could, “I accept that what I’ve done is inconsolable, but you cannot force me to marry another, or love another for the sake of a reputation I’ve grown to care about less and less as this war furthers on. I love you both, but,” She dropped her gaze, “I’m sorry,” she turned away, grabbed Cullen’s hand in hers and made her way to the carriage that was outside with their belongings.

\---

“Oh,” was all Dorian could offer.

“Yea,” she sighed loudly, “Cullen and I didn’t speak until the next day in the tavern we stayed in. And somehow our reconciliation turned into another fight. Fuck, that could be the last time I go home”.

“At least they didn’t out-right disown you, right?” Dorian placed a hand on her shoulder.

“No, not yet, but I am waiting for that letter,” Scáthach’s said so quietly Dorian strained to hear the last word.

“ Maybe they’ll surprise you. And, shit, neither you nor Cullen seem to be taking this very well, you know,” Dorian pulled her to him, and she seemed to be comforted.

“Maker, Dorian,” she was crying and the sudden sobbing wracked through her chest, nearly making Dorian jump, “What have I done? My family has practically disowned me, Cullen won’t look, let alone speak, to me,” she sniffled, then sat up, “And that _fucking_ blizzard outside delayed our return further. Can you imagine it, Dorian,” she faced him, “7 days in a carriage and barely any words exchanged. 7 nights of lying next to each other but nothing,” a mixture of rage and hurt coming over her, “no real intimacy, kisses practically devoid of emotion. I love him, Dorian… and I think I’ve lost him, he even asked if I still wanted to marry him. He seemed so full of doubt, Dorian. Fuck, I’ve lost him,” she sobbed as the last words left her mouth, and she practically crawled into Dorian’s lap, grasping to be close to him, trying to find the comfort that Cullen had not offered.

Dorian held her, ran his hands through her hair and tried his best to reassure her that everything would be ok. He had never done this for anyone; let them collapse in his arms as their world crashed down and their heart breaking with each strangled cry. Dorian was worried, but he was surprised that the prevalent emotion he felt was fury. He was angry that his best-friend was an exhausted emotionally wrecked heap on his lap and the man he trusted and called friend was not here in his stead. When she eventually fell asleep, Dorian slipped her head off his lap and tucked her in before he stormed out to make his way to the Herald’s Rest, quickly noticing Cullen’s office was still empty.

 

The blizzard was still raging on and Dorian was so angry that his magic was enough to shield him from the biting cold. He tried to slam the tavern’s door open with his hands, but the wood had swelled and he had to use magic instead. The tavern was half-empty and most of the conversation was quiet and polite as the night was winding down. Dorian stalked upstairs, so outraged that he by-passed Bull and went right for the stairs that would lead him to the second floor and to where the Commander should still be sitting.

Dorian stopped as he saw Cullen leaning away from the table, reports clearly forgotten and his face full of pain. Cullen’s hands shook as they went to run them through his hair, more evident when one went to his mouth as his chin started to quiver. Maker, he looked as if he was about to start crying right there in the tavern. A barmaid passed and Dorian grabbed a glass and the bottle of her tray, shooing her away before she protested. Bull had followed up to check on Dorian who was visibly upset but he stopped as he too caught the site that had caused Dorian to pause. The Commander of the Inquisition hunched over and practically ready to fall apart right there in his seat.

 

Bull kissed Dorian on the cheek and whispered in his ear, “Do you want me to stay?”

“No, I think he would clam up with too many people near,” Dorian returned the gesture and watched as Bull went back to the Chargers before he pressed further.

 

Dorian sat down slowly and still Cullen all but jumped, “You know,” Dorian grabbed Cullen’s empty cup, and poured him a drink, “I was ready to tear you a new one when I came in,” Cullen looked away and rested his chin against his hand, remaining silent.

“It seems that you both are…frustrated,” Dorian slid the glass in front of Cullen and then poured one for himself; Dorian was trying his best to calculate how to keep his comments tactful but prying for the reserved Commander in front of him, but was surprised as Cullen spoke.

“I fucked up, Dorian,” Cullen looked to the glass then took a small drink, “I said things to her that I didn’t mean. I embarrassed her. Fuck, I think I tore her away from her family,” Cullen took in a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions under control.

“To be fair, I think she made her stance on that quiet clear in Ostwick, don’t you?” Dorian leaned down to try to get a glimpse of his face so he could try to read Cullen’s face.

“She shouldn’t have had to. I knew,” his voice raised but he stopped to regain his composure, “I _knew_ they were going to try to tear us apart, but I didn’t think they’d succeed”.

“Well, they haven’t yet,” Dorian tried to ease Cullen.

“I suppose,” Cullen took another small sip from his cup, “I just couldn’t believe that she didn’t tell me about the other man,” he cringed and re-worded his statement, “the _arrangement_ her family made,” Dorian interrupted.

“Do you love her?” he asked softly and Cullen shot his head up, clearly offended.

“Of course I do, what kind of question,” Cullen angrily retorted but Dorian cut him off again.

“Then it doesn’t matter,” Dorian leaned back in his chair, “And to her defense, that marriage bit is quiet common among nobility”. Cullen scrunched his nose up at that remark.

“She should’ve told me regardless,” a sour note clearly hit.

“Oh, stop it,” Dorian’s anger now re-surfacing, “that woman is a wreck, just like you. She thinks she’s lost you,” Cullen recoiled, “she thinks you don’t want her anymore, that you no longer wish to walk her down the aisle,” Dorian stopped, a cruel but possibly effective idea came to mind “ Are you sure you want to marry her? I mean, do you _really_ love her? I don’t think anyone’s ever heard you confess your love”. Cullen sat back, and reminded Dorian very much of a kicked puppy.

“Of course I still wish to marry her. I just,” Cullen faltered, “I just wanted her to know that she could choose her family over me, that I would understand, but I didn’t think,” he sighed.

“So how do you know, Cullen?” Dorian pressed further.

“Maker, Dorian,” he huffed, not used to being the one interrogated, “I would follow her for the rest of my life. I-,” he stopped to reconsider, “I spent the week avoiding conversation because I was waiting for her to say that she chose her family, but it never came. She chose me. I don’t understand, I-I-I wanted to yell. To scream about how she broke my trust for keeping it from me, but I can’t convince myself that’s why I’m angry”.

“ _Why_ are you angry?” Dorian’s brows were pushed together, “Because now I’m confused”.

“Because,” he placed his forehead on the edge of the table and laced his hands behind his head, “Because they’re right…” Cullen felt the hot tears streaming down his face and he couldn’t bring himself to look up just yet, “I can’t offer her the life she deserves. I have no title. No real money to offer, nothing. She doesn’t deserve this life. Maker, Dorian, you should have seen her home. I have never seen anything like that, I could _never_ provide for her like that”.

“You, my dear friend, are an idiot,” Dorian shot and Cullen looked up at him.

“What?” Cullen remarked at Dorian’s unbelievably rude remark given the circumstance.

“She doesn’t care about that. She made that very clear. She _loves_ you. That, and I’m pretty sure she can provide for herself,” Dorian sighed, “And you two morons are clearly meant for one another. I have never seen anyone look at each other like you two do, _especially_ when the other is not looking. Bloody fairy tale, you two” Cullen let a hint of a smile tug at the edge of his mouth, “Now, drink up and tell me what you’re going to tell her when you sober up,” Cullen chuckled softly, “I’m not joking”.

“What am I supposed to say, ‘Scáthach, I love you and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you’? That I would rather be a darkspawn than see her wed another? That I actually dream of watching her walking down the aisle to me?” Cullen and Dorian both startled at the sound of Scáthach’s voice.

 

“Something like that,” she smiled at Cullen.

“Scáthach,” Cullen stood instinctly, “I didn’t hear you, I,” he stopped when her hands latched on to his pauldrons and pulled him into a gentle kiss. Dorian smiled, took his cup and made his way downstairs to Bull who was surely having a fit not understanding what was going on.

 

Cullen didn’t know if it was an entire week of lack of intimacy or that she seemed to forgive his insecurities but he melted at her touch. Cullen cupped her face and kissed her softly. When they broke apart Cullen rested his forehead on hers and lightly rubbed his nose against hers, “I’m sorry”.

“As am I,” she softly returned the gesture, rubbing her nose to his, “I should’ve told you,” Cullen interrupted.

“I don’t care anymore. So long as I have you, I don’t care. I want to marry you. I want to have a life with you. We might have to work for it, but, Maker, that’s all I want…a life with you,” he kissed her lightly.

She sniffled and laughed brightly, “Cullen, you are the love of my life. I would rather have you than anyone my parents could offer,” she looked him in the eyes, “All I want is you”.

“My heart belongs to you,” Cullen smiled, “Maker, I love you” he kissed her once more; Scáthach’s heart melting all over again.

“I love you too,” she placed a hand on his cheek, “Let’s go back to our room, yea?”

“Of course,” he smiled, and took her hand in his.

 

When they were almost out the door Cullen asked, “Is it still storming outside?”

“No, it was over when I woke” she answered as he opened the door to reveal a clear night sky and a layer of fresh-fallen snow.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was a lot longer than intended. I am slowly working on the next fic, it should be up within a few days! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy! Next chapter will be fluff and smooches, a balm, so to speak. I would also like to mention that the blizzard is a metaphor and I just wanted to make sure that everyone knew that in case it was missed (because I probably would've skimmed over it otherwise)! 
> 
> A/N: Title is a reference to the Muse song, "I Belong to You/Mon Cœur S'ouvre à Ta Voix"; which of course, as usual, I suggest you listen to.  
> The family home is based off the Biltmore Estates in Asheville, NC (also suggest you take a look, it's gorgeous- I visited it when I was like 10 and fell in love with it)
> 
> Thank you again, feel free to drop a comment too, don't be shy!


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